Life of Pike
by HungerGames226
Summary: The remnants of a character who was once in a 24/24 collab, but was replaced because my lack of activity. T T I'd like the chapters to remain on this site, so I've decided to upload as a story. Most likely will not be updated.
1. Chapter 1

**Pisces Aircleft, 14**

**HungerGames226**

"Good work, Pisces," my trainer, Kellan, tells me with a casual applause.

I've just taken down four dummies in under thirty seconds. One of my best times.

I grin, my eyes fierce. "I can just imagine the human limbs rolling away already," I tell him.

He loses his smile for a second, but manages to pick it back up again because he knows he's scared of me.

People are scared of me. They don't _really _like me. But I'll tell you one thing: when I return home in a few weeks, crowned victor of the Thirty-eighth annual Hunger Games, they'll be tripping over each other to be my friend. To have the luxury of my presence.

Five victors hail from District 4, soon to be six. I admire them all.

I need to bring more honor to this district, after Alison Rain died during Training last year. They didn't give the specifics. But it was pathetic. We got our Victor, though, a 17 year-old girl named Aqua Rio. After the epic fail of our original female tribute, Aqua has restored my faith in our district. I watched last year's Games with excitement, because somehow, I knew we would have the crown once again.

I wasn't always this way. If I remember correctly, I was once a carefree, happy four-year-old boy. Then I turned five, and my parents signed me up for the training academy. I learned how to use a sword, bow, throwing knives, staffs, spears, daggers, clubs, maces. . .you name it. I became the young man I am today.

My parents are good people. They didn't want me to be a tribute at _all_. They signed me up for the sole purpose of being prepared; if I was ever reaped and no one would take my place, I would come home. To me, it became more than that. Call me sadistic, violent, a disgusting human being, but there's nothing better than watching the pack from 1, 2, and usually 4 kill, kill, kill every year during the Games. I'll be one of them.

It's late afternoon in 4, the sun just beginning to set. A lot of students have gone home for the day. Kellan tells me that training is over for the day, and wishes me luck at the reaping tomorrow. Like I'll need it. I shake his hand and put back my sword, and head over to the Commons - a separate building on the grounds of the training academy where students clean up, eat, and socialize. Right now, there are only a few students, a few trainers, the snack bar worker, and me. A couple janitors, but they don't really count as people, now do they?

I push open the door to the men's bathroom, and find that I'm not the only student there. Three seventeen-year-olds stand in a group, getting ready to go home from training. They stop talking when they see me, and I brush them off like mosquitoes.

"Hear you're volunteering tomorrow, Aircleft. Let me know how that works out for you," one of them, Dune, says mockingly.

I push past them to the sinks. "If you're gonna be a bastard, then save it till after I'm crowned," I reply indifferently. "I won't be able to help your jealousy, though."

Dune's smile drops, but his friends look smug, pressuring him to accept my challenge. He apparently has nothing to say, so I continue our lovely conversation for him. "In fact, I can't help pansies with anything."

His arms go to his sides, and I see in the mirror that his fists are clenched. "We'll see who the pansy is once I beat in your face!" he growls. He lunges toward me, but I see it and duck. He punches the mirror and breaks the glass, leaving bleeding cuts on his knuckles. I laugh.

"Let's see if you can get this through your thick head. I'm coming home, and you'll be bowing to me," I tell him slowly, as if he's a baby. "And if any of the trainers hear about your defacing of the property…well, let's just say our newest victor won't be afraid to take action."

He turns to his friends, who smile, and then turns to me. "Maybe I'll volunteer first, punk. But I'll get you," he says with a scowl and a pointed finger. I roll my eyes.

"Ooh. Threatening. We'll see," I tell him as he leaves.

He ignores me, and the door closes. I take a deep breath. Idiots tire me.

I splash my golden-tanned face with cool, fresh water, and take a crisp paper towel and wipe it away along with the sweat of today's training. I study my face. Sky-blue eyes with emasculating long lashes. A small, straight nose, and a tiny pink mouth that is always scowling. I guess my thick auburn hair is due for a trim, but it's not like I care or anything.

Then I turn my attention to one of the full-length mirrors on the other end of the wall. Dad says I have a 'swimmer's body', which is a little obvious considering District 4's industry is fish. I have very broad shoulders. My arms are toned, and look more muscular in this tight shirt. I raise my left arm and flex. It's good, but it's not good enough. People will never take me seriously if I'm not huge. I sigh; I guess there's nothing I can do about it.

I head out to the snack bar where Talise, the woman who runs it, greets me with a smile.

"I'll have the usual, Talise," I tell her before I sit down on the leather stool. She nods and whips up a strawberry-blueberry smoothie with lots of protein powder.

"How'd training go today, Pisces?" she asks in a friendly tone.

I take a sip when she sets it down in front of me. "Good."

She's silent as I gulp down the rest. As I finish, I reach into the bag slung over my shoulder and pull out a few silver coins. "Here's a little tip," I say, with a look of petty spread over my face, "Not everyone can have a decent job."

Talise purses her lips, accepts the coins, and looks at me as I walk out.

I'm walking down the paved road towards home, when I hear footsteps on the hot asphalt behind me.

"Pike! Hey, Pike, wait up!"

Pike is my nickname, reserved for those few who deserve the chance to know me well. The voice is too far away to detect its owner, so I turn around, annoyed. I see the tall, gangly Stella Dinixx. Chin-length dirty blonde hair, sea-green eyes, tanned. Obviously from a working class family, but one that can afford to train their little princess. She's in her uniform.

"If you tell me you're volunteering tomorrow, I won't hesitate to kill you once we're in the arena," I tell her promptly, and turn back around.

She laughs. As if I were joking. Whatever. Let the fool think what she wants.

"No, no," she promises. "I was going to say hi, and wish you luck at the reaping." Stella and I have known each other since we were about eight. We were put in the same skill level for throwing knives, and we were put as partners.

I pause and wait for her to catch up. "I don't need any luck, Stella. I'm going to be great."

Her light, easy expression disappears without a trace. "You don't mean…you're going…" she stutters.

"Well, spit it out," I tell her, not hiding my irritation. Trying to have a nice walk home. The sun beats down on us and the small buildings surrounding us- the post office, the small huts of the lower working-class citizens, the tailor, the grocer. The town.

"You're not volunteering, are you?" she asks stupidly. Her eyes show fear and anxiousness, awaiting my response.

I'm bewildered. Why wouldn't I? But then again, I don't think I told anyone besides a couple friends. Maybe I've mentioned it to my parents."You think I wouldn't? Then you obviously don't know me," I say, grinning from ear to ear. She's so naive. I thought she would've realized, even if I hadn't told her.

I start to walk away, but she grabs my shoulder and whips me back around. "You can't, Pike."

I laugh and push her off of me with ease.

"You're my best friend. I just don't want to lose you."

"Getting a bit clingy there, aren't you?" I ask jokingly.

"But-"

Physically putting my hand in front of her to staunch her emotion, I interrupt, "Stella. I'm fine. You know how I am with a sword."

At this moment, her eyes go shiny with premature tears, though I can tell she refuses to let one drop. "You don't get it, do you? I care about you," she says, struggling to keep a smooth tone.

Before I can reply, she gives me one last look of pain, then disappears back the other way toward her house.

* * *

I'm alone in a dark room, with nothing but a glistening silver sword with a diamond-encrusted golden handle. It's sleek and smooth. I grin. She's a beaut. Better than anything we have in the Training Academy.

Hearing the inevitable spring of a dummy behind me, I turn around. My first instinct is to stab, stab, slice, slice. Which I 's one of my best rounds.

I manage to take down twenty dummies. I begin to enjoy myself as they appear faster and faster, and their red lit-up hearts turn off when I've killed them. A dummy pops up behind me.

Turning around, sword extended, I slash it into its stomach. Only when there's no light to go out do I realize what - or who, should I say - I've just killed.

Gangly. Blonde. And naive.

"Stella?" I call to her.

There's no response.

* * *

My eyes open in the dead of night. I'm panting, sweating. I wipe the sweat from my forehead as I get out of my comfortable bed. I hear the clock gently ticking in the background as I make my way into the hall, and down the light curved stairs. My hand runs along the finished, glossy wooden railing.

When I come to the doorway of the kitchen, I find I have company. My father and mother sit in the dim light of the lamp.

"Good morning," my mother says kindly, but I can hear a hint of fretfulness.

My father gives me a friendly smile, but nothing more.

Wanting a cup of tea, I reach into the cabinet. My mother stops me. "Oh, I can get that for you," she says. I'm about to object, before I see the want in her sky-blue eyes. I nod and turn to sit at the table with my father. I'm wearing a burgundy short-sleeved shirt and light pajama pants.

I know something's wrong. Maybe not wrong, but unsettling.

My mother is regarded as somewhat of a celebrity in District 4. Her beauty distinguishes her from the rest of us. Her eyes, long dark curls, and creamy complexion are significantly different from the working class ladies, who usually have green-blue eyes, tan skin, and blonde hair. When I look over to her making me a steaming cup of tea, I find her usually rosy cheeks have lost their flush.

My father is a short but muscular man with long, graying hair and hazel eyes. He'd be rather intimidating if you didn't know him. He's really a softie.

My mother sets a dainty porcelain cup of hot lemon-ginger tea in front of me.

"Something's been, ah, bothering us," my father says as my mother sits by him.

Bingo.

"Yes?" I ask, to get it over with.

My father looks at my mother, and then back to me. He finally says the only thing I don't want to hear. "You're not volunteering tomorrow."

I stand, accidentally knocking over the tea cup; the tea pours onto the floor. "Why not?!"

"We can't lose you. You're our only child," my mother says, staring into the distance.

I tighten my fist, making my knuckles go white. "But it's not fair!"

My mother snaps her attention back to me. "We want what's best for you, Pike," she says gingerly.

"What's best for me is being up on that stage with the victors," I reply crossly.

"Your mother and I. . .we don't think you can come home if you volunteer," my father says sternly. "You're pitted against eighteen-year-olds from districts richer than us. More favored than us. And you're only sixteen." By his voice and my mother's expression of malcontent that they are not in fact joking.

Well, joke's on them anyways.

I leave in a rage, without another word, back to bed. Not that I can sleep.

* * *

Raymon Delvas, District 4's escort from the Capitol, nears himself to the podium and taps it a few times.

"Welcome," he says in his chipper voice. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor. Before we begin, we have a film - a gift brought to you from the Capitol." He indicates the projector screen, which then lights up.

The film depicts Panem during the Dark Days - the broken cities, the filth, the dead bodies. "And then came the peace," the film says, "hard thought. Solely one. A people rose up from the ashes. . ." and so on.

Raymon takes the microphone again. "Now, it is time to pick one lucky man and woman to represent District Four in the Thirty-eighth annual Hunger Games. Ladies first."

He walks over to the female reaping bowl and pulls out a single slip. He projects his Capitol accent as he says, "Zarna Epi!"

A girl who I've never seen before begins her procession to the stage.

There's a small shout from the girl's section, a volunteer. A tall, decent-sized girl with shoulder-length blonde hair steps forward, and says her name is Maria Thorne. I've definitely seen her at the Academy before; I've just never interacted with her. She's gorgeous, as far as gorgeous goes. With full lips, high cheekbones, and round deep blue eyes.

"Now for the boys!" he continues. A rush of adrenaline pumps through me. It's my time.

He selects another name and reads it out, clear as a bell. "Dune Reilly!"

_Perfect._

He smiles and begins to take the stage, before I realize what I'm supposed to be doing.

"I volunteer!" I call out. The people around me give me a look I can't describe. Jealousy? Probably.

Dune shoots me a look of pure hatred as I take the stage promptly.

"Now, young man, what's your name?"

I straighten my striped, buttoned cotton shirt and say into the microphone - "Pisces Aircleft."

Raymon asks for a customary round of applause. I flit my eyes back to Dune, who's near the very front. He wipes his sand-brown hair off of his green eyes. Working class. Wouldn't have lasted long anyways.

"I give you - our tributes from District Four! Maria Thorne and Pisces Aircleft!"

I give the audience an award-winning smile and roll my eyes obligatorily, which is met by solemnity. Obviously, they're jealous. Imbeciles.

I'm in the Justice Building no longer than ten seconds when Stella shows up.

"Why are you here?" I ask promptly. She ignores this and sits down next to me in a quick, urgent way.

"I shouldn't be here any more than you should, Pisces."

She shouldn't be calling me Pisces. That's the first clue she's upset.

I laugh, but nervously. "What?"

"Why did you do it?" she asks urgently.

I'm bewildered. I thought she would expect this.

"Because I can win. . .?" I respond as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, Pike! You can't! Can't you see? The massive guys from One and Two? The girls who can kill you with one thrust of their hand?" She sounds desperate.

"I'll be with them," I assure her, an indifferent wave of my hand. "They wouldn't dare hurt me."

"They'll have to eventually!" she cries out.

That's something I haven't thought of before - what would happen to the Career pack once it was down to just them. I reply to Stella with silence.

"I cared about you, Pike! I forgave everything you said yesterday!" She's crying. I realize now I've done something terribly wrong.

I've hurt someone. And that nightmare I had last night told me. . .I care about her too, whether I knew it or not. I shouldn't have volunteered.

And how many other people have I hurt? My parents, no doubt.

I'm beginning to rethink everything in my life, just from Stella saying that. I could've been safe, I really could've. I probably wouldn't have been reaped. Now I'm stuck in a black hole that I can't back out of.

I sorta-kinda hate myself right now.

"I'm sorry," I manage to croak out. "I'll make it up to you. I'll win. I promise."

Her expression softens, but her cheeks are still stained with tears. "You promise? You'll really, really try?"

I nod. She throws her arms around me. I'm not used to affection, but I return it anyways, because I know she's broken up over this.

I haven't been able to see through my arrogance. I don't need to be a tribute. Not at sixteen; I could've waited. Maybe.

I realize that out of all my "friends", Stella. . .she's the only one who truly likes me. I've broken my parents as well as her. I've broken myself.

Stella leaves, without being escorted. She doesn't even look at me.

"I promise, Stell!" The door closes with a _'thud' _behind her.

And then I'm alone.

* * *

The train has not yet left the station, but the Reaping and time allotted for final goodbyes is over.

I received nothing after Stella.

As Aqua walks in with a pained expression on her face, she keeps her voice level. "I have been instructed to inform you that your parents intentionally refused to visit you."

"And why not?" I ask.

She gives me a soft expression but her eyes are hard, "Don't get upset with me. They didn't give me the details, but it's a safe bet they're disappointed in you."

I huff and my eyes fall downcast. I cross my arms over my stomach. "Well, kudos to them. And why would they be disappointed in me?" I ask, curiously, but sadly.

She shrugs her shoulders. "Honestly it beats me. I'm guessing because you volunteered. If Coral volunteered I'd be happy... A little scared but happy."

"My parents don't know what's right for me. They just don't get it," I explain with an irritable tone through clenched teeth. "You'd make a better fit as my mother, even, and you're only, how old? 18?" I ask genuinely, but there's a hint of mocking there.

She glares at me. There is a slight hint of hurt in her eyes. I can't read the reasoning behind it, but I assume it's because she got pregnant so early. "Watch your tongue." She snaps, her maternal instincts kicking in. Her expression softens, "You think that right now, but they do want what's best for you. Obviously they don't think this is what's best for you."

"They think they know me, but they don't. I know I can win this. If only they saw me in Training."

It was true. Anyone who saw me with a sword knew to get out of the way. "Do you think I could win this?" I asks suddenly, then get embarrassed. We only met 5 minutes ago, how was she supposed to know?

She gives me a faint smile. "District Four won last year. I wouldn't doubt it." She has a sudden pained look on her face, but she shakes her head lightly. "As for your parents, prove them wrong in the arena. Show them that you can do this." She gives me a soft look, full of caring.

Deep down, I genuinely appreciate it. "Thank you," I tell her. "And I didn't mean to be so sharp about Coral. You're going to make a great mother as she gets older."

I can't believe I'm saying this. It was out of character. But my recent conversation with Stella makes me rethink what I say.

Aqua lets a smile play on her face and she crosses her arms as she leans against the wall. "No problem..." She starts to walk out, but stopped and said to him over her shoulder, "Listen, if there's anything else you need... You'll need to ask Sothe," she says. "Unfortunately, I'm not permitted to help you, although I'd like to."

"Aren't you my mentor?"

"Not this year, no. I've got Coral to attend to. I'm just visiting you and Maria before the train leaves; I won't be accompanying you. Well . . . farewell, good luck." She let her words stay in the air, then left to go feed Coral.

I cross my arms over my waist, still lying in the soft bed, trying to brace myself for the weeks to come.


	2. Chapter 2

My stylist, Agrippa, has put me in a sleeveless, tight silver leotard that ends just below the knee. On my arms and from my knee down are painted shiny blue fish-scales, and on my back is a dark blue-green cape. My headdress is made from coral, adorned with starfish and seashells.

Ew.

I was hoping for something more. . .masculine. Something that would impress the crowds. After all, this is supposed to be a night of first impressions.

I sigh. The four tributes from 1 and 2 - what if they don't accept me into the pack? Then I'd have volunteered for nothing and I have to fend for myself. Except that Rift guy from 9 looks pretty lethal as well, _and _he volunteered. . .

No. I'm not teaming up with anyone from an outer-lying district. My place is with the kids who have trained for this.

"Do you like it?" Agrippa asks eagerly. Her wild black hair is about two feet tall, the messy but fake curls falling just above her neck. She has on a short black dress with a fitted bodice, the skirt jutting out sharply at the thigh and coming back right above the knee. A crazy lace neckline, with lots of pearls. Her neon pink eyelashes seem to explode when she looks at you.

I sigh. "Yeah, it's perfect."

Obviously she doesn't take into consideration the sarcasm practically dripping from my words, because she squeals and claps her hands. "I'm so glad," she says, "I wouldn't trade styling this district for anything."

I roll my eyes and turn my head over to my prep team. There's Hortensia, who does my hair. She has bright green eyebrows and pea-sized flowers glued to her eyelashes. She's about as pale as paper with a sharp, angular figure.

Livius, who takes care of my skin, has dark brown skin with a shiny blue suit and short, curled black hair. He has bright blue earrings.

I'm not sure what Rufina does. She has fire-red hair that's about as straight as a sword and heavy red eye shadow and lipstick. Her outfit is equally red, literally a long cloak type thing that's made completely of lace, but covered in the most intimate places. The cuffs of her sleeve, the neck, and the bottom - just below her feet - are lined with yellow fur. She looks like she's about to go to sleep.

They're all giddy that they're going to be famous; I can assure them they're not, but I choose not to. They wouldn't listen anyway, they're so wrapped up in their own Capitol world.

Maria comes in with her stylist and prep team, wearing about the same thing, but hers is more of a dress. I can tell it reminds her of home, which does no such thing for me. I realize I come from the fishing district, but I haven't swam since I was probably ten years old. I remember splashing, jumping in the waves, looking for seashells, pointing out elaborate-colored fish. It wasn't _that _long ago, but it seems to have been an eternity right now. Besides, our family never had to fish for our living - my great-grandfather was captain of one of the district's best ships. Since then, our family has played our cards right finance-wise. This might be more sentimental to Maria, because her family probably has to haul in their fish quota every day, being from the working class.

"I think we better get to the waiting area," Livius says. The chariot parade could start in just a few minutes, and 4 is one of the first ones out. Well, hurray for me (not), the whole country's going to see me in this stupid thing.

Reluctantly, I agree. Our party is rather large, including Mags, Sothe, my prep team, her prep team, her stylist, Agrippa, and the two of us. Not to mention Raymon, who hasn't said anything, just suppressed a smile the whole night. I bet he milks this every year. Someone told me he started out with District 6 or something, so he's happy he's in a wealthier district.

* * *

Standing in a pair, Maria and I survey the rest of the tributes. Size up our competition. It's the first time we've seen all of us face-to-face. You can tell which kids have been fed properly and which have been malnourished their entire lives. The faces from 1 and 2 are fresh, clean, healthy. Their bodies are robust and muscular. They have been pampered by the Capitol their entire lives. The rest of the lot, however, are not so lucky. Skin stretched tightly over skulls, little muscle or fat, lanky and awkward. I bet they haven't seen so much food in their lives. Too bad.


End file.
